William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

“And that was acceptable when I thought we were talking about one abbreviated term. But I’m not waiting around another six years! I’ve been waiting for you half my life as it is!”

They both heard the chuckles emanating from the back of Ben’s office. “Could you be kinda less subtle, Chrissy? I’m not sure Ben gets your drift.”

Loving. Ben’s barrel-chested investigator, currently serving as Senator Kincaid’s research aide, though most of his research didn’t involve library books. “Something I can do for you?” Ben asked.

“Just remindin’ you it’s time to take off for the Rose Garden. Don’t want to miss a chance to visit the White House.”

“I was thinking I might skip it.”

“Skip the White House?” Christina and Loving both erupted at once.

Ben shrugged. “There’s so much security. I can just stay here and watch it on C-SPAN.”

Christina gripped him by the shoulders. “Benjamin J. Kincaid. When the leader of the free world invites the junior senator from the State of Oklahoma to the Rose Garden to hear firsthand who he’s nominating to the Supreme Court of the United States, the junior senator doesn’t go couch potato on him.”

“He invited everyone in the Senate.”

“Doesn’t matter. You have to go.” She paused. “Especially if you’re thinking about running for another term.”

Ben sighed. “Oh, all right. But I won’t enjoy it.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

“I’m s’prised it’s taken the President so long to make the nomination,” Loving offered. “This whole thing’s been orchestrated from the start.”

Ben wasn’t sure what was stranger: the statement itself, or the fact that Loving had used the word “orchestrated.” “Huh?”

A low, subguttural snigger. “You don’t really think the late Justice Cornwall died of a heart attack, do you?”

“Spare me your conspiracy theories.”

“When a man in a position of power in his early sixties dies of a ‘heart attack’ ”—Loving made little snicker quotes in the air as he said the words—“you can be certain the Powers-That-Be are making a play.”

“The Powers-That-Be? And who is that? The Trilateral Commission? The Freemasons? The Thirteen Old Men Who Rule the World?”

Loving stepped closer and spoke in hushed tones. “Microsoft.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Give me a—”

“Think before you scoff, Skipper. Everyone knows Microsoft is in bed with the Chinese.”

Christina stared at him. “We do?”

“Who else uses icons to convey meaning, huh? Do you know how widespread the Windows operating system is? In twenty years, the English alphabet will be extinct.”

Ben frowned. “And this relates to the late Justice Cornwall because…”

“He was well known to be a staunch anticommunist.”

“I would like to think everyone in our government—”

“In the new era, Americans will all be illiterate computer jockeys. Easily conquered by the Marxist-Maoist-Microsoft consortium.”

“And this is all being engineered by that pinko fink Bill Gates?”

Loving guffawed. “You know, Skipper, for a senator, you’re not very well informed. There is no Bill Gates.”

“There isn’t?”

“Bill Gates is a virtual character created by Microsoft technicians and played by a succession of actors. Honestly, do you think he looks like a real person? I don’t even know where you’d go to buy a pair of glasses like that.”

Ben pushed past him. “On second thought, I will go to the Rose Garden. I’m desperate to go to the Rose Garden. Anywhere I might find a small morsel of sanity. Come—”

He collided with Jones, his administrative assistant, currently serving as his administrative assistant. “Boss! Are you taking appointments yet?”

“Do I ever stop?”

“Christina told me not to let anyone in your office till she came out.”

Ben gave Christina a long look. “Indeed. Well, it’ll have to wait. We’re going to see the Presid—”

“Senator Kincaid!” Ben was all but flattened by a large woman in a sundress who pushed past Jones and slammed Ben back into the doorway. She slapped her hands against his chest. “I have to talk to you.”

“This is the U.S Senate! Don’t we have…guards or something?”

The woman ignored him. “I’m Geraldine Pommeroy.”

Ben ran the name through his mental Filofax. “I talked to the chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee about that furlough for your son—”

“I don’t have a son. I have four daughters.”

“Four…daughters. Oh—there’s a Senate page position opening up in—”

“They’re not old enough to be pages. The oldest is twelve.”

“Okay, I give up. What do you want?”

“They told me you could get us tickets for the White House tour. My eldest is doing a report on what she did over the vacation break, and she needs pictures of the White House to bring up her ‘C’ average.”

Ben rolled his eyes. Good thing U.S. senators deal with only the most urgent and important crises. “Jones?”

He stepped forward. “Sorry, Boss. We’re all out of tourist passes.”

Ben shrugged. “My apologies, ma’am. I couldn’t get anyone into the White House if my life depended on it. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Where are you going?”

“Me? I’m going—” He stopped short. “I’m…um…I’m going on an important…senator…thing.” He ducked under her arm and slid past. “Be seeing you!”

The woman whirled on him. “I’m not voting for you next time!”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t vote for me before,” Ben said under his breath. “Jones—is the car ready? Get me out of here!”

3

Sometimes Ben had to shake himself just to remember that it was real—he was an actual U.S. senator. And he had been invited to the White House. As his car whizzed down the stretch between Lafayette Park and 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, he marveled once again at his great good fortune. The elm trees and retractable bollards were lovely, and they kept you from noticing the camouflaged guard booths. Couldn’t have the White House looking like a penitentiary—even though at times Ben thought that was exactly what it was.

Ben had seen the Rose Garden a million times on television, but it looked like an entirely different place when you visited in person. For one thing, you noticed that there actually were roses, long rows of tall flowering red and pink rosebushes. The air was sweet and the endless green expanse of perfectly trimmed lawn was an amateur golfer’s dream. All in all a wonderfully tranquil location—or it would be, if it hadn’t been infested with a thousand or so reporters, politicians, and sundry other dignitaries, not to mention a tangled weave of minicams, boom mikes, and miscellaneous technical equipment, all centered around the currently unoccupied podium bearing the seal of the POTUS—President of the United States.

“A rather impressive display, isn’t it? Even when no one’s up there.”

Ben turned and found himself face-to-face with the top dog in his party, the Senate Minority Leader, Robert Hammond. Ben glanced at his watch. “President Blake is late.”

Hammond chuckled. “President Blake is always late. Haven’t you noticed? He likes to build anticipation, put on a show. It’s because he’s from Missouri.” The wind whistled through Hammond’s thinning silver mane. “But I suppose when you’ve gone to all the trouble of running for the highest office in the land, you’re entitled to a few idiosyncrasies.”

Ben smiled. During his short time in Washington, he had repeatedly been impressed by Hammond’s warmth and good humor. He couldn’t help but be pleased that this senior legislator had taken so much interest in him, a puny appointed fill-in senator from Oklahoma. Ben almost felt as if the man were grooming him for a future in politics, as if Hammond saw a potential in him that no one else was seeing, including himself. Hammond was also the author of the federal Environmental Protection Wilderness Bill, a sweeping piece of reform legislation designed to undo the damage of previous administrations and declare an unprecedented amount of untouched wilderness and national parkland free from development. It was the legislation closest to Christina’s heart. She had spent hundreds of hours trying to make the bill a law. Hammond was also assembling a coalition to pass the largest aid bill in history for the millions of Americans living below the poverty level.